


Bloody (furious) Mary

by Natasja



Series: Tumblr and NaNoWriMo prompts [4]
Category: Bloody Mary (Urban Legend), Original Work
Genre: Bloody Mary legend, Trolling, Tumblr Prompt, being a dick to Demons, don't do this at home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-09 17:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20998277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natasja/pseuds/Natasja
Summary: From a Tumblr prompt: "It's fun to chant Bloody Mary three times into your car's side-view mirror and watch her jog to try and keep up".





	Bloody (furious) Mary

I sat in my car, waiting for the lights to change so I could turn onto the highway. The cars going in the opposite direction slowed, suggesting that the lights were about to change. Perfect.

I glanced at my side-view mirror; the timing had to be exact, or I would be in a lot of trouble. Also pain, probably. “Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary.”

The lights changed as the mirror distorted. A pale, gaunt young woman with lank hair emerged as I pressed the accelerator. Her expresion changed from placid manace to extreme irritation as she had to dodge a truck, a startled windscreen washer panning for change, and other hazards of mid-day city traffic.

Funny, the feared apparition was a lot less terrifying when she was red and puffing, the hem of her ragged dress lifted so as not to trip over it while she chased after my car.

I’d probably suffer for this later, but it was so, so worth it.

* * *

The next time I tried was on a train. Someone on the station was fixing their make-up in a hand mirror, which was apparently vastly more important than letting people get on and off public transport. She was lucky that one guy was in a wheelchair; he’d looked ready to kick her onto the tracks when the wheelchair ramp had to be angled sideways for him to get off without running her over. Luckily, his carer had wheeled him away before he got the chance.

That just made what I was about to do with that mirror all the more sweet.

The angle at which I was leaning out of the train window was probably going to leave bruises, and I had to be ready to pull my head back in a hurry, but it was better than risking the glass as a reflective surface/passageway from the Beyond. I fixed my attention on the mirror as the whistle blew. “Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary.”

The person fixing their face paint - seriously, hadn’t they heard that make-up was supposed to be natural unless you were a clown? - screamed and dropped the mirror as the spook in question clawed her way out of the handheld mirror. It required a bit of a wiggle at two points - feminine curves could be a hindrance when trying to get through a confined space - and the train was safely picking up speed as Mary looked around and spotted me.

She screamed even louder than the person whose mirror I’d hijacked, though probably more in rage and frustration than in fear, and sprinted after the train, leaving the mirror on the ground and the person who had been holding it a rocking, gibbering wreck on the ground. My carriage was passing the edge of the platform at that point, so her efforts were futile. Of course, I’d timed it that way.

I waved cheekily at her rapidly-shrinking figure... and had to yank my hand back inside before I broke it on the edge of a tunnel.

Still totally worth it.

* * *

The third time is the charm, and I was having far too much fun with this to quit now.

This time, I was on a ferry between Wellington and Picton, the harbour towns of the North and South Islands of New Zealand, and had just found out that even massive, car-carrying ferries have side mirrors.

Even if it didn’t work, we were nearly at the dock, so there were plenty of places for me to hide from an angry spectre until I got off. Plus, kids had been running up and down this deck, yelling, for at least the past hour. The other passangers stretching their legs outside were aggressivly ignoring anything from this level. No-one would notice a thing. Worst case scenario, the pint-sized howling terrors would get something to scream about.

I leaned against the railing, enjoying the wind in my hair and the smell of salt and brine. I looked over to the mirrors, just barely close enough for me to see my reflection. “Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary.”

She started to emerge, with a howl of triumph. (That was new - I must have been even more annoying than I thought.) The ferry jolted, like the helmsman had just received a shock and yanked the wheel, and Mary Worth’s glee turned to a shriek as she fell out of the mirror and plummetted several dozen feet into the harbour below.

A few people on the lower decks looked up from their conversations or reading material at the loud splash. The brat who had been sneaking up behind random people, in order to scream and scare them, burst into tears and ran back to their parents, who had been pointedly Not Noticing the brat’s antics.

A voice came from beside me, the good-looking stranger I’d been casually eyeing as I weighed my odds of success if I made a move. “Nice. Wanna see if they’re still serving drinks at the bar?”

Ok, giving Bloody Mary a soaking would never not be worth it, but this was an unexpected bonus. “A red snapper sounds lovely.”

A Red Snapper was a variation on the Bloody Mary cocktail. My potential date laughed and led the way.

* * *

Of course, my cunning, brilliant plan to cheat doom was all bound to go wrong eventually.

The first warning sign should have been when I used the story to chat up a pretty girl at a Halloween bash. Bragging about stupid and/or dangerous exploits to impress a disinterested girl is always dangerous; chick-flicks should have taught me that much. She’d been looking into her phone camera, trying to get a good Selfie angle, when I sidled up to her, and it was not resting on the table between us.

The girl herself wasn’t quite so into the Halloween spirit that she was willing to believe me without question. I reached for her phone (the dangerously-raised eyebrow should have been another warning sign). She moved it out of my reach, and I backed off, looking toward the bar. “Look, I’ll show you. Bloody Mary - argh!”

I had barely finished the first repetition before she came screaming out of the iPhone. “I WILL EAT YOUR SOUL, YOU WRETCH!”

I’d been looking at the mirror over the bar (whose tender had insisted on showing him my ID, even though I was well over the age limit), but my face was also just visible in the pretty girl’s phone. Said pretty girl was also remarkably unphased by my screaming. Bloody Mary came out claws first, using my face as an anchor point to pull herself the rest of the way. Then she got to work.

All of those times I said I wanted some cool scars to impress the ladies? _THIS WAS NOT WHAT I MEANT!_

I fell to the floor, groaning, the other partygoers either not noticing or thinking that it was part of the evening’s entertainment. Her fearsome visage gentled, looking almost creepy-attractive, as she glanced at the girl I’d been flirting with. “I appreciate your help. The wretch was always prepared by the third repetition, but with you saying the first two...”

The pretty girl smiled. “Likewise. Want to hang with me for a bit before you go back? You won’t stand out here.”

Bloody Mary - even more bloody than usual tonight - considered briefly, then nodded. “Just let me dispose of this one. I won’t be a moment.”

Lifting me up like I weighed less than a doll, she somehow started stuffing me into the reflective surface of a beer glass.

Oh, no. Look, I can take scars, I can take a probably well-deserved beating, but being stuck in a beer glass for eternity? Yeah, I’ll nope right out of that, thanks.

Bloody Mary hadn’t got that memo, or didn’t care, because her very vindictive grin was the last thing I saw before a clear but very solid barrier overtook my view. The pretty girl - I hadn’t even scored her name! - set my glass on the edge of the table, and led Bloody Mary onto the dance floor. She’d been dressed as a greek goddess, and it was only now that I noticed the flail tucked into her belt, next to a long dagger.

Nemesis, the goddess of Vengence and Retribution, dancing with a vengeful spirit. How very fitting. Part of me wondered if it really was just a costume, or if I’d spent the past ten minutes annoying an actual goddess. If Bloody Mary was real, why not other folklore?

The famous couplet sprung into my mind, trapped in my glassy hell, just as someone bumped the table and the glass started to fall. I decided that it needed an update, or at least an extention. If Hell had the monopoly on scorned women, and Heaven on love turned to hate, then Purgatory must be the wrath of a woman pushed beyond her limits.

A pity that I’d learned that bit of wisdom too late.

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a bit of silliness (and probably ended that way, too, but it was incredibly fun to write.


End file.
